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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781162">Don't play with your food</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells'>bluebells</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Mandalorian (TV)</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blood Drinking, Intersex Din, M/M, Mating Press, Monster March, Morning Sex, Paz's totally nonchalant reflections of Din's other meal prep, Rough Sex, Service Top Paz (as usual), Soft domestic vibes (and then not so soft), Vampire Din</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2021-03-01</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-18 07:35:41</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Explicit</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>2,395</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/29781162</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluebells/pseuds/bluebells</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>When Din holds audience with the Armourer, he falls so still as though her attention has rendered him to stone.</p><p>But Paz knows he still breathes, and the puff of his exhale steams hot as proof of life. He learned that after the Armourer appeared at his door one morning before first light, the ovaline visor of her buy’ce piercing in its expectation.</p><p>“I’m expanding your duties,” she said, and changed his life forever.</p><p>OR as guardian of the covert's armoury, Paz takes on new responsibilities to sate their deadliest weapon's appetites.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Din Djarin/Paz Vizsla</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>189</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Don't play with your food</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><ul class="associations">
      <li>For <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueTeaParty/gifts">BlueTeaParty</a>, <a href="https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ogress/gifts">Ogress</a>.</li>



    </ul><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>IT'S MONSTER (MANDO) MARCH, BABY.</p><p>This is based on a couple of nsfw blurbs I originally posted on Twitter where Din's partner was an unnamed individual but, you know what, life is short and I have preferences. Shout out to BlueTeaParty and Ogress for the initial inspiration.</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>There are many weapons in the covert’s armoury, but none so deadly as the Mandalorians themselves: honed over a lifetime to bend without breaking, the knowledge of generations distilled into each warrior, their will as strong as the native steel that armours them. They have borrowed the best from each culture they encounter.</p><p>Some have borrowed more than most.</p><p>Paz doesn’t know when Din changed -- if his altered state was afflicted while seeking credits in their name, or if it occurred much earlier. Perhaps Din had arrived to them like this -- both to thrive in the dark of the covert’s underground, always a little more sensitive to the star's rays than others.</p><p>But Paz doesn’t think so.</p><p>He trained with Din Djarin before the man became beroya: when they were both awkward in the angles of younger bodies, clumsy and learning.</p><p>There aren’t many people who can sneak up on Paz now, but the heavy infantryman has grown accustomed to finding the beroya passing in the corridor without any of his HUD’s systems pinging to the sudden arrival. Din easily moves without sound and holds close residence with the shadows strewn long and deep through the halls. He is fast enough to beat even the youngest of them in a race through the coiling burroughs of the covert. He has strength to capture Paz’s strike at full power, single-handed, as the gunner learned one frustrated evening of sparring.</p><p>When Din holds audience with the Armourer, he falls so still as though her attention has rendered him to stone.</p><p>But Paz knows he still breathes, and the puff of his exhale steams hot as proof of life. He learned that after the Armourer appeared at his door one morning before first light, the ovaline visor of her buy’ce piercing in its expectation.</p><p>“I’m expanding your duties,” she said, and changed his life forever.</p><p>There are many weapons in the covert, but none more deadly than the beroya who takes life to sustain his own.</p><p>It’s easy to forget how easily Din can break men with his bare hands when he spills into Paz’s lap, loose with sleep and crooning for touch. Before the covert rises, the dark hours are just for them-- it didn’t take Paz long to warm to his new responsibilities when this first started, earning him a sweet lapful of beroya every morning.</p><p>Din is the very image of contentment, eyes shut and his head tipped back, lithe frame swimming in the pale, oversized shirt he stole from Paz’s closet. His skin soaks in the soft glow of the cell-powered lantern humming in the corner of Paz’s quarters, and the healthy flush of his skin makes Paz swell with pride. He’s achieved nothing by halves in his life and he’s not about to start now.</p><p>He watches Din's throat roll, taking slow, deep pulls from the bottle held to his lips, and Paz brushes the fringe from his hairline with his free hand. The gunner thumbs his cheek, his jaw, and leans in to kiss him there, feather-light and adoring. Tugging Din closer in his lap, Paz buries his face in the curve of Din’s neck with a soft groan and listens to the rolling gulps as Din drinks deeply, secure and relaxed.</p><p>Paz doesn’t even mind the scent of blood anymore. It’s easy to acquire from the worst of Din’s bounties, individuals too heinous to turn over to a jail or private jury. The covert are their own brand of justice. Strangely (and privately), Din still balks at the act of killing. Paz has no such reservations: he dispenses Din’s meals with speed and mercy, and it’s well-practised work to bend the unfortunate donors over bespoke receptacles, letting them bleed out quick and dry until the last of tremor and whimpers have died.</p><p>They take the bodies out to let the lava flows consume the rest.</p><p>Stroking the cinch of his waist, Paz murmurs reassurance, glad that Din is cooperating ("feel better now?"), because the man too easily forgets to take his nourishment and rest when allowed. With Din’s distaste for unnecessarily taking life, Paz has wondered if Din purposely avoids it; Paz argues that it is very necessary. Din prevents himself so much and the Armourer noticed; Paz may just be fulfilling his duty, but he has found pleasure in it, too.</p><p>
  <em> Here,  </em>
</p><p>-- mouthing at the hot expanse of Din’s throat and indulging in his happy sighs ("good, mesh'la, keep drinking")</p><p>-- feeling him still, a sharp inhale with the South-bound exploration of palms delving to the low dimple of his spine</p><p>-- squeezing his flank, the back of his thigh, feeling the hitch of Din’s throat against his lips when he searches further, and thick fingers slide between firm cheeks to the seam of him</p><p>Din sways against him, a shy vulnerable arch into Paz’s chest that belies the power coiled inside. So dangerous, so trusting. All his.</p><p>He follows the path well travelled and Din moans when slick fingers sink inside him. A thin bead of blood escapes the corner of his mouth, racing down to his collar. Paz’s fingers curl inside wet, silken heat and he kisses the trail from Din’s skin, drinking in his soft, high whine.</p><p>“You’re making a mess,” Paz murmurs, secret and starving, a smile staining his lips.</p><p>Din exhales slowly. He leans back and the look in those dark, heavy eyes makes Paz want to bite the blood from his mouth.</p><p>It is powerfully intimate to share naked eye contact with another vod. Paz doesn’t think he’ll ever overcome the thrill. They are not bonded but, in the Creed, the Armourer has made an exception for them.</p><p>“I’m expanding your duties,” she had said.</p><p>How many men can say they’ve been charged with the health of their community’s breadwinner, relishing in the knowledge it means keeping a gorgeous, surly man well fucked, well fed and rested?</p><p>“Enough?” Paz lowers the bottle, but Din snatches it and twists round on Paz’s narrow bed, setting it far and safe on the slab of a low table.</p><p>“Enough of <em> this,” </em> Din says.</p><p>He surges against Paz like the lava tides beyond their border: thick, lazy and burning to the touch. His hands rise to cradle Paz’s jaw, a sweet kiss eases him access, but then Din drops all pretense of patience. The iron rich tang on his tongue is forgivable. Din plunders his mouth with sharp hunger, stirring a helpless moan from deep in Paz’s chest. His fingers slip from Din’s body and he grips muscled thighs tight, dragging the beroya in, down and hard to grind his clothed arousal against the molten core of him.</p><p>Din jolts with an electric shiver, spine going ramrod straight. His mouth falls slack with a moan into Paz’s kiss, and then they’re rocking together, coherent thought buried beneath the sensations and mutual feedback of each other’s pleasure, for nearly a minute-- the longest minute of Paz’s life. He only stops when Din’s thighs betray a telling tremble and he snatches Paz’s wrist up to his mouth. </p><p>“You want to fuck?” Paz growls, grabbing his chin and kissing him hard enough to make him mewl. “Or do you want to feed?”</p><p>Din yanks the fingers from his chin with a snarl. The sound is barely human. A mad light dances in his eyes-- he’s not going to choose, Paz realises, and he’s not going to dignify his keeper with words, either.</p><p>Stubborn di’kut.</p><p>“All right,” Paz says, and curls both hands under the thighs straddling him. “All right.” He rises on his knees and Din’s back hits the mattress with an <em> “oof!” </em> of surprise. He prowls up that shorter frame with hands against Din’s sides, pushing the shirt up beneath Din’s armpits to devour the sight of his lithe, scarred frame, chest rising deep and fast under his greedy gaze.</p><p>He knees those thighs wider apart even as he rubs the inner skin of his wrist, encouraging a bloom of red to soften for Din’s impending bite.</p><p>“Let’s see how you manage, beroya.”</p><p>///</p><p>Paz has some stupid ideas, Din thinks.</p><p>He insists Din should breathe or drink, not both-- but there may be some merit to this, because every time Paz’s hips snap into him he's crying out, shoved across the bed by inches; he concedes-- he chooses air, saliva closing the wound on Paz’s wrist as he hangs on, gripping that muscled forearm like a lifeline but the scent of blood is in his hair, the sheets, their chests.</p><p>He needs to feed, he needs to come, he just-- he <em> needs--  </em></p><p>A voracious growl builds in his chest as that coil of heat winds tighter in his groin. He's close, he can barely see, eyelids heavy under the weight of his drooling lust, and he cants his hips, meeting each punishing thrust.</p><p>"Almost there?" The question purrs into him, making him tremble, and he nods with a whimper, then a sharp wail, straining, arched as he's folded, knees hitting his shoulders, and the pace turns pounding fast.</p><p>"Aah! Haa-- Nngh!"</p><p>He throws a hand up to brace against the headboard, his above human strength the only thing that saves him from skidding.</p><p>"Come on, cyare, come on--" he's urged.</p><p>His ears fill with the roar of his blood, the wet slap of hips driving in as he's speared so deliciously deep, he's snarling and keening, jaw clenched as he grasps for more, other hand slipping over broad, sweaty shoulders sheltering him in their shadow.</p><p>His throat is dry. His vision is red. His head is spinning, his whole body sings-- but it could be even better, he <em> wants--  </em></p><p>A wrist presses across his lips. "Drink. Now."</p><p>Din almost sobs his gratitude, both hands gripping that taut forearm as his partner braces their free hand by his head and keeps slamming into him. Paz is one of the few who understands Din is not fragile. He drives into Din’s body with enough force to bang the bed’s frame against the earthen walls, over and again, his pace furious, and Din’s body sings, shuddering, awash with mind-searing fire that makes his knees fall open wider and throws his voice against the walls in bitten off yelps of ecstasy. He licks across old scars, and pulls Paz closer, purring at the scent of sweat and cotton and beskar.</p><p>There's a sharp grunt from above when his teeth sink around the vein, skin breaking under the force of his bite, and he groans deep in relief at the hot rush of blood onto his tongue, down his parched throat, soothing the yearning gnaw of his gut at the first drop.</p><p>He’s not supposed to drink from Paz, but how can he stop himself when the man always tastes rich with euphoria, going down smooth and thick, better than any broth Din can recall from his childhood? He doesn’t like the bitterness of fear in the other ones they feed him, but he knows beggars can’t be choosers. This is an indulgence, so instead, they choose their timing carefully.</p><p>"That's it, mesh'la, take your fill."</p><p>The words barely reach him over his own hungry, sloppy noises, but he can feel the tension stutter behind the strength of those thrusts as Paz endures the pleasurable feedback, human brain firing chemicals to dull the pain with deceptive sweetness. His rhythm falters, grinding heavier against Din, into him, hips barely parting in their desperation to be close.</p><p>"Take it all-- f--fucking <em> take it--" </em>Paz growls.</p><p>Din feels drunk, suckling, eyelids so heavy as he rocks beneath the frenzied shove of Paz’s hips, back and forth. The hunger in dark eyes lock and pin him with intent.</p><p>"Look at me," Paz murmurs, and the coil of need snaps.</p><p>Din arches sharply beneath him, the pleasure of his release so acute his sound is pained, smothered into their wrist, belly warm with his new feed, his muscles desperately clenching down on the hot throb spearing him open as he drives himself against them again and again.</p><p>A palm cups his cheek. "Look at me."</p><p>Paz likes to look him in the eyes when they do this, never mind how horrifically bare Din feels beneath his gaze, already exposed in his hunger and face.</p><p>He twists away, whining under the onslaught. He can't. His eyes shoot open at the nip of teeth on his jaw (when did he close them?). He gasps into his lover's mouth, now so close, lips brushing as Paz demands again, "Cyare. Look at me."</p><p>His senses are clearing now he's been nourished. He loves Paz’s weight against him, pinned beneath the square press of his hips. Din’s pulse drums in his ears. His hands shake as he takes that handsome face in his hands, thumbs stroking from cheekbone to ear. He holds his gaze as Paz begins moving again; whimpers as the pace speeds, as Paz groans, head bowing, shoulders locking tight, hips bucking into a rut and he loses himself in Din’s body.</p><p>Full and sated, Din relaxes and lets himself be used. If only every day could be like this. If commitments were a dream and his purpose was to be fucked and fed, over and again-- like this-- just l-</p><p>Paz cries out and the rushing heat of his seed inside quiets the last of the yawning ache. Shoulders braced, Din croons, riding the hitching rhythm of powerful hips, biting his inner cheek, tongue chasing the last of blood from his lips.</p><p>Above him, his lover's face is a rictus of pleasure and Din shivers, milking him from the inside, cupping his cheek as Paz moans pathetically into his palm, spilling deep in long pulses. Din loves that he's the one to do this to him, and that Paz can do this for him, in turn.</p><p>Paz sinks down with an exhausted grunt, resting his full weight against the smaller man, again, trusting Din can weather it with the arms that snake around him to clutch him close, sweat cooling and their breaths calming together.</p><p>They will do this at least once more before they rise and face the covert. And again, for many mornings to come if Din has anything to say about it. Because Paz is the best meal he’s ever had and he will not yield this without a fight.</p>
  </div><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_foot_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff"><p>I post a lot of early drafts and similarly random filth on my <a href="https://twitter.com/bellsyafterdark">nsfw twitter</a>, some of it never comes across or takes a long time to. I love when you all come barreling in with your own concepts, so please join me and let's enable each other. Although less often, you can also find me at my <a href="https://twitter.com/bellsybuilds">sfw place of residence</a>!</p><p><b>Permissions:</b> You do not need to ask for permission to make translations, podfics, fanfic or fanart for any of my stories-- I do ask that you link back to my original work and let me know because I would LOVE to share what you've created.</p></blockquote></div></div>
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